


Lend Me a Hand, Drop Me a Line

by chaostheoryy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Bathroom, NSFW, Non-established House/Wilson, Not episode based, Phone Sex, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3492911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaostheoryy/pseuds/chaostheoryy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson is trapped at the Annual Interdisciplinary Breast Cancer Conference with no way out. Could a call from House make the event a bit more entertaining?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lend Me a Hand, Drop Me a Line

            Conferences were something Dr. James Wilson would never get used to. They were the single most tedious part of his job and there was nothing he could do to escape them. Being the head of the Oncology Department at Princeton-Plainsboro meant he was more than likely guaranteed to attend every single cancer conference and medical convention in the United States. _God, give me strength to power through this_ , Wilson thought as the first speaker of the day took the podium on the third day of the Annual Interdisciplinary Breast Cancer Conference.

            Halfway through the speech, Wilson's phone began vibrating at his hip. Despite knowing it would seem remarkably rude for him to answer his phone during a speech, he knew it was risky to ignore a call given his position. For all he knew, it was one of his colleagues in desperate need of his opinion on a patient with stage four lung cancer.

            Thankful that he was seated comfortably near the back of the hall, he pulled his phone from pocket only to furrow his brow in irritation as he saw the name of the person calling him: House. He flipped open the phone and lowered his head as he brought it to his ear, praying none of the people around him would tear him a new one for taking the call.

            "I can't talk right now," he hissed under his breath.

            The man on the other end of the line sounded completely calm and as arrogant and sarcastic as usual. "You're alarmingly bitter for someone who's staying at a four-star hotel."

            Wilson rolled his eyes. It didn't matter that he had known House for years. He was never going to accept his sardonic commentary. "I'm in the middle of a presentation. What do you want?"

            "Oh nothing in particular," House replied, his tone obnoxiously caustic, "I just thought it would be lovely for the two of us to catch up. How was breakfast?"

            "House, I swear to God, I'm going to hang up if you don't have anything important to tell me."

            House let out a dramatic groan. "Fine. What time does your flight arrive on Friday?"

            Wilson was completely exasperated. "I left my flight info on the counter! I told you that three times before I left! Is your brain so clustered with ridiculous information that you can't even remember that?"

            "I never said I forgot what time your flight arrived," came the diagnosticians casual reply.

            Wilson stared at the balding head in front of him for a long moment, desperately trying to make sense of House's hidden purpose. When nothing came to mind, he immediately snapped, "Then why the hell are you asking me?"

            "I just wanted to hear you say it. But clearly you're too cranky to even answer a simple question."

            "And clearly you have no idea how much of a bore these damn conferences are," Wilson scoffed. The woman seated next to him threw him an irritated glance that made him shrink in his seat. Damn. He definitely shouldn't have answered the call...

            "Get up."

            Wilson's attention was torn away from the judgmental woman seated beside him and forced back onto the rugged voice of his distant companion. "What?" He asked, not quite certain if he heard right.

            "Get up and exit the hall."

            "Why?"

            "Don't ask questions. Just do it."

            Wilson glanced around, searching for the easiest, least disturbing exit route he could find. Last thing he needed to do was crush the toes of a dozen distinguished doctors. Once he found a relatively quiet way out of the hall, he got up, mumbling apologies to each of the people he passed in front of and narrowly avoiding tripping on a man's cane. As much as he hated himself for avoiding his responsibility to attend the opening speech, he couldn't just ignore House. If he simply hung up on him and ignored any further calls, House would come at him with a vengeance.

            "I'm outside of the hall," Wilson said with a hint of ire in his voice once he was standing out in the corridor, "What do you want?"

            "What time does your flight get in?"

            Wilson nearly erupted like a volcano, barely resisting the temptation to throw his cell against the wall. "For God's sake, House!" He bellowed in frustration, "Just look at the damn itinerary on the counter! I'm busy, can't you accept that? I have panels to head, speeches to listen to, vendors to visit, booths to critique, and God forbid I find time to grab a bite to eat!"

            The other end of the line was quiet, even when Wilson finished his tirade. "Oh good. You're giving me the silent treatment. How mature." Wilson rolled his eyes and rotated in place, completely vexed by his inability to just hang up. There was honestly no use in trying to fight it. He may as well give House what he wanted and hope that is was enough to get the man to shut up. "Y'know what? Fine. I get in Friday night at eight."

            House spoke up right after, his tone suspiciously nonchalant. "Okay. So I'll pick you up at the airport and take you back to my apartment?"

            "Yeah, that's fine." Wilson responded, too vexed to even bother arguing. He'd spend another night on House's sofa if it got the man to stop bothering him.

            "I can just imagine how tense you'll be once I pick you up. Those dark eyes of yours drooping with exhaustion. Your every muscle tight and in need of soothing touches."

            Wilson's eyes narrowed. What on Earth? "Well, of course I'll be tired. I'll have been at a conference for an entire week," he responded without realizing what House's peculiar conversation was leading up to.

            "An entire week of stress all pent up inside. Imagine how nice it would feel to let loose, how incredible it would feel to have a pair of strong hands caressing your thighs and rubbing your chest..."

            Wilson's heart lurched forward as if trying to make its escape from his thoracic cavity. "House, what are you talking about?" He asked, completely taken aback by the turn in their conversation.

            "I could be the source of those hands," House continued, casual and confident as ever, "I could start as soon as you got in my car if you wanted me to. My right hand will shoot straight for your thigh and give it a gentle squeeze as you collapse into that leather seat you love so much."

            Clear images of the situation House was describing immediately filled his mind, leaving him frozen in the middle of the corridor with eyes bulging. Realization struck him like a speeding train. House was trying to have phone sex with him. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to respond. He was completely unprepared. Not once did he ever consider the idea of having phone sex with House. Not in any of his wildest fantasies did he even _think_ about that scenario. And yet there he was, standing in a corridor in the Paris hotel in Vegas while his best friend thoroughly described what he could do to him when he got back to New Jersey.

            "You're quiet now," House continued, "But you won't be once I've got my hands on you. Sure it'll feel nice having me rub you in the car, but once we get back to the apartment..." Wilson could practically _hear_ the smirk tug at the man's lips through the phone, "I'll have you whimpering and begging. I could play you better than any piano on the planet."

            Wilson swallowed hard and reached out to brace his hand against the wall, feeling as though his legs would give out on him any second. He knew he should stop. He knew he should tell House that what he was doing was inappropriate. He was a professional at a damn conference. He shouldn't be letting his best friend make a dirty call in the middle of a presentation. He should say "enough" and hang up.

            But he didn't.

            "I'm not even sure I could wait very long once we pull up to my apartment either," the diagnostician went on, "I'll probably just have to shove you against the wall the second we step inside. I'll be good to you though, don't you worry. I'll start by kissing you. Nothing slow. We'll both be far too horny for anything chaste. I'll kiss you like my life depends on it and you, well, you'll be far too desperate to do anything but try and suck the life right out of my mouth. I won't even try to stop you either. It'll be sloppy, it'll be hasty, and it'll be hot."

            Wilson shut his eyes and pressed his forehead against the wall as his heart began to race. There was no way he was going to be able to fight this for long. Not when House talked like that. All the blood in his body was eager to rush south and he knew that once House got more explicit it would be impossible to reverse the effects.

            "House," Wilson murmured shakily, afraid of making it obvious just how enticing the man's voice was. His utterance was a plea. Whether that plea was for House to stop or keep going, he really wasn't sure. But when House continued his vivid descriptions, it became clear that he had inadvertently begged for the latter.

            "You'll keep on begging for me until I finally give in and take you to my room. You'll be hard by then for sure, straining against those khakis of yours. As satisfying as it is to hear you beg, I'll let you take them off. But you won't be allowed to stop there. You'll take everything off. I want to see you laying naked and aching for attention on my bed. I'll get my hand nice and slick before I finally touch you, starting with a long, slow stroke. Oh how good it will feel to finally have that cock of yours in my hand."

            Wilson let out a low whimpering sound and clenched his jaw. Oh God. He was getting hard and he was getting hard _fast_. He could picture everything House was describing so clearly, as if someone had videotaped a fantasy that had yet been played out and was screening it over and over again in his mind. He could imagine himself sprawled out across House's bed with his cock laying hard and heavy on his lower stomach for the longest moment before those long, expert fingers began tracing his length and that callous hand took a hold of him to give him a long, tantalizing stroke.

            "Wilson."

            The oncologist's focus was drawn back to House's voice at the sound of his name. This wasn't House continuing the fantasy. This was House addressing him directly. "Y-yes?" Wilson stammered breathlessly.

            "Go to the bathroom. Now."

            Wilson didn't need House to tell him twice. He immediately made his way down the long corridor until he found a vacant, single-toilet bathroom. The second the door was locked, he exhaled and fumbled with his belt, hand shaking with arousal. "Don't stop," he begged quietly as he hastily worked his pants down past his hips, "Please."

            He could hear the faint sound of ruffling sheets on the other end of the line and a soft exhale the passed through House's lips before the man began again. "After a while though, it'll be impossible for me to keep from wanting more. How unfair that you get all the touching while I sit there hard and wanting. I could let you touch me. Let you unzip my jeans and watch you stroke me. But I know you'll want something better. You'll want to be fucked. And, oh do I want to fuck you."

            House's calm tone wavered, making it clear to Wilson that the diagnostician was just as worked up as him. As Wilson began stroking himself, he began thinking about the fact that House was probably laying in bed with his own cock in hand. Oh God did that make it hotter. "Tell me," Wilson quavered, "Tell me how you'll fuck me..."

            It took House far longer to continue than he had earlier. Clearly he was in the same position as Wilson at that point. But he managed to swallow back his pleasured sounds and found the ability to elaborate. "It'll be everything you've ever wanted. Slow and tantalizing at first until you can't stand it anymore. Then I'll really fuck you. It'll be hard and fast. You'll be gasping and groaning, desperately trying to reach up and grab onto the headboard as I thrust into you over and over again. And I won't slow down until you lose yourself. Not until you scream my name and come all over yourself..."

            Wilson moaned, pumping himself in desperation as he listened to House's explicit description. He was teetering on the edge of orgasm, his hand slick with the pre-come he had gathered from the tip of his leaking cock. He was so close. So damn close. Just a little push and-

            " _James_."

            Wilson gasped and immediately felt the familiar sensation of euphoria take him over as his cock began spasming in his hand. House had moaned his name. Gregory House, his best friend, had actually _moaned_ his name. Wilson swore he had never heard anything more erotic in his whole life. That was something he needed to hear again. Hell, it was something he needed to hear regularly.

            Wilson could hear House's labored breathing through the phone and knew that on the other end of line his best friend was jacking off to a fantasy about him. He immediately knew what he needed to do: he needed to return the favor.

            "Greg," Wilson whispered breathlessly into the phone, "Come for me... _Please_..."

            It was only a moment before he heard House let out a suppressed, almost suffocated cry before following it up with a long exhale. Despite having never slept with House before, he knew exactly what those sounds meant. House had come and Wilson was the cause.

            The two spent a long moment trying to catch their breaths, neither of them speaking yet keeping their phones pressed to their ears in anticipation. It was, not surprisingly, House who spoke first.

            "Clearly the conference isn't as horrible as you made it out to be," the diagnostician teased huskily.

            Wilson scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I don't care how dirty you can talk," he retorted, "You're still an ass."

            Wilson could clearly picture the slightly arrogant, slightly amused smile that was more than likely sneaking its way onto the man's scruffy face. "So, Friday at eight then?" House asked.

            "Yeah. And you better not be late or I _will_ make you wait until we make it to the bedroom," Wilson smirked.

            He heard a deep chuckle vibrate through the phone before that enticing, rugged voice responded, "I wouldn't dream of it."


End file.
